


I am...Doll Heart

by Daiako (Achrya)



Series: Kinktober 2017 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Creepy Ardyn, Creepy story in general, Dolls, Frankenstein's monster style, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Regis' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12272844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: Noctis was little more than a child, a sad boy locked away in a tower for his own good, when he built Ignis. Years later Ignis wonders if Noctis won’t eventually grow tired of him and desire more, Noctis wants to prove that’s never going to happen.For Kinktober, Prompts are doll/dollmaker, mirror sex





	I am...Doll Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Kids, if you aren't listening to Doll Parts by Hole while listening to this you're doing it wrong. Go forth, do the thing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RD9xK9smth4

Once upon a time there was a prince who lived high up in a tower with no one at all for company, save a man who tended to the cooking and washing during the day, but had no interest in playing with a child, and the occasional visits from his father. There was no way in or out of the tower save magic and the king had no interest in teaching his son how to leave or bringing him playmates. 

The king was not a bad man or a cruel father, at least not deliberately,  but he was a man with a broken heart. He’d loved once, fiercely and with all he had, but that woman, his queen, had been a sickly woman, as frail of body as she was sharp and determined of mind. Her spirit burned bright, her will was strong, and she allowed little to stop or slow her down. But some things are inevitable and, shortly after birthing their first child, the queen passed away. All who knew him said something broke in the king that day and that if not for his son he would have been list to despair. 

He would dedicate his life to his son, making sure he was cared for, wanted for nothing, and was showered with his father's love. It could have been an idyllic life if the young prince hadn’t, in time, proven to be as frail as his mother. At the tender age of 3 sickness would settle into his body after a trip into the city, some minor big that most would be able to fight off. Fever burned his brain, fluid tried to drown his lungs, and all feared the sickness would settle into his heart and blood. None thought he would live. 

But he did, against all odds, and after that everything changed. Healers told his father he was forced weakened by the sickness and would never be able to fight off illness as well as others did. A chill would drain him, a cold would confine him to his bed, and a flu might just kill him. Keeping him away from things that could make him sick was the only, improbable, hope. The king, unwilling to lose the son he so loved and all he had left of his dear wife, decided that to protect his child he would isolate him.

A tower, protected by magic, cut off from the outside world, kept clean and near sterile, was the only solution. He had it built secretly, far from his castle, and once it was done he took his son there himself. He left his son in that place, location known only to the single servant trusted to tend to the young boys needs, and then sealed it tight with his magic. 

The prince, Noctis, was only 5 when the outside world was taken from him. There was no way to get outside, no balconies or windows that might let in a harsh wind or airborne sickness. In a few years time Noctis would forgot the sun was anything more than something he read about in books. 

He did not want for things to do. There was a garden on the tip floor of the tower, maintained with magic and glistening yellow crystals set in the ceiling that cast their glow on the plants. There was a library so extensive it needed two floors, and that was without in using the magical texts, kept on the ground floor in his father's rarely used workshop. The basement was a large pool of water, temperature changing with just a thought from the prince, perfect for swimming or soaking. There was a kitchen, always stocked and unable to run out of anything, and he was permitted to cook under the indifferent eye of his caretaker. There were lessons, math, history, science, nearly everyday. There were games to play and many skills to take up and try to learn. 

But, for all there was to do, he was terribly lonely. The servant came early in the morning and left after supper, able to pass through the barrier thanks to runes inked onto his skin, but never spoke of the outside world no matter how Noctis begged. He barely spoke to Noct at all, save to call him for meals and oversee his attempts at cooking.

The King visited but as Noctis got older the visits became strained and the time between them grew. 

When he was 13 the tutor came to teach him magic. He was a strange man, even by Noctis’ very forgiving standards, and the line servant took to avoiding him almost immediately. Noctis, however, was glad for any interaction, any attention, even if it came from in the form of difficult lessons and scolding. His tutor was convinced he could do more than he did, achieve greater things with his magic, and pushed him hard, leaving Noctis exhausted most nights. He tried hard to live up to the expectations, secretly afraid that if he didn't his tutor would cease to come and teach him. 

It was his tutor who, perhaps intentionally and perhaps not, planted the idea of creating a companion in his mind. A lesson about life magic and how the most powerful of mages could even infuse into things. Dollmakers is what his tutor called them, able to build and bring to life Dolls for various purposes. Even, his tutor had said, for companionship. 

Noctis spent weeks in the workshop, reading everything he could on Dolls and what it would take. 

A vessel, a form for the life to fill and bond to. Organs, to infuse power and to make the vessel able to function. Intent and Will, the more he gave the more independent his Doll would be. Lifeblood, steeped with his own magic, and finally his desire for the Doll do live. It was a lot but the workshop had all manner of ingredients from all sorts of creatures, so he was sure he could manage the inside bits. 

But a vessel. 

Here his tutor helped once again. Noctis confessed in him what he wanted to do and the man smiled and promised his aid, so long as Noctis never spoke of it to the king. And so an agreement was struck and sealed in blood between them. 

( _ “Would you prefer a male or female vessel? Or perhaps both. Neither?” His tutor asked as he helped Noctis bandage up the palm he'd split open to make their contract. _

_ Noctis hummed thoughtfully then shrugged. “Like me, I suppose.”  _

_ His tutor smiled then bowed slightly. “I’ll see to it you are able to build your doll, highness.” _ )

Ingredients began to appear and though it was macarabe work Noctis found himself more excited than he’d ever been. He spent long nights in the lab, armed with a long bone needle and sutures made from the guts of cattle (or so his tutor told him), crafting his Doll. 

The vessel was patchwork, all human but from many sources. He fused bones with spells, knitted flesh with healing herbs, and stitches skin. It was odd, the way the textures and colors didn't quite flow and the way the stitches began and started each part. His tutor said the parts came from graves and hospitals, always from the already dead, and Noctis wasn't always so sure but he never asked. 

Most of the inside bits he choose from what he had in the workshop. The lungs from a dragon, to fill it with fire and strength of will. Eyes, eerie green, from an elf and bathed in starlight, to make it observant. The tongue of a poet-

( _ “A poet?” _

_ His tutor shrugged apologetically. “Not a very good one I'm afraid, prone to terrible puns, but we can't be picky when dealing with the human parts. It's not as if I can go out and murder people. ...unless you'd prefer that.” _ ) 

To make it well spoken. Vocals cords from a siren, to make it persuasive. Brain from a sphinx, for intelligence. The heart of a unicorn, still warm and coated in blood when it was placed in his hand. 

( _ “For loyalty. A unicorn would lay down and have its heart carved from its chest without fighting if doing so will protect what it cares for.” _

_ “Oh.” Noctis said, fingers closing carefully around the delicate mass, not totally understanding but aware that this heart was precious. “I’ll put it in.” _ )

Kidneys from a lion, liver from a mermaid, stomach from- there were, as it turned out, a lot of parts that went inside of a Doll, but the closer to human he built it the better, so he endured. 

The last parts came all at once. Hands from a loyal caregiver. Blood in large jugs, from various donors according to his tutor. Noctis accepted that, adding drops of his own to each jug, and then setting up tubs and needles to fill the vessel. 

And finally a part his tutor decided to add himself, shooing Noctis out of the lab so he could do it, winking when the prince questioned him. “I don't think you’ll find much use in it for a few years, but you’ll appreciate it when you do.”

And then it, he, the Doll, was done. A strange, mismatched, patchwork Doll, cold and unmoving on the stone slab they'd built him on, covered by a thin sheet. Noctis crept to its side, a strange sense of disappointment in his chest as he looked down on it. He’d imagined that, once it was complete, it'd be...more than just this lile of parts.

“What do I do now?”

His tutor tilted his head to his side, a smile at the corner of his lips. “How does a prince wake a person in your stories? And make sure you desire him to wake with all your heart, highness. That's the trick.”

Noctis kissed his doll, under the glowing white crystals in the ceiling in the workshop, under the flickering of candles, and tried to pour everything he had inside of him into it. All the magic his tutor swore he had and every bit of sadness, of loneliness, of longing that had built inside of him in his ten years in that tower. 

His Doll’s first breath was a gasp. 

 

\---

“Iggy?” He called, poking his head into their shared bedroom. Usually the Doll was waiting for him with dinner by this time (Ignis had taken over the cooking and cleaning duties in the tower, with occasional help from Noctis. The servant who had done those things had disappeared one day and if Noctis ever felt about  _ hands of caretaker _ or that the man had vanished a day or two before he’d finished building Ignis he kept it to himself.) but today their table in the garden had been empty. 

He’d checked the workshop, kitchen, and even the dark room they’d used to use to project the images of stars onto the ceiling, before the Incident only to find his companion in none of the usual places. Finding him in the bedroom, shirtless with his hands flat on the surface of the mirror was unexpected, to say the least. 

Ignis’ head twisted in his direction but his eyes, gone a strange stony gray-green, didn’t react. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Do you think about leaving here?” Ignis asked, turning back to the mirror. Noctis frowned, uneasy settling into his gut. Ignis could detect shifts in light and the faintest hint on shapes and echo of color if he strained himself, but there was little chance he could see himself in the mirror. What was he doing? 

And what would he ask that? Ignis had never even been outside, and Noctis certainly didn’t remember anything but the tower either, why would that even be on his mind? 

“For what?” 

Ignis breathed out slowly, breath fogging the glass, then drug his finger through it. “Don’t you miss it? Your father can’t keep you here anymore.” 

They both knew Noctis had the power to leave anytime he wanted now, and had for months. Before that point it had been a hypothetical thing, a suggestion from his tutor that he was stronger than he thought and occasionally pushing at the barrier just to see but not wanting to test it just yet. then, after years of hiding Ignis away, his father had found his Doll. The King had reacted poorly, to say the least, declaring the Doll a monster, demanding to know how Noctis had done it, who had helped him, and finally trying to destroy the Ignis for no reason except that he existed. 

Noctis had stopped him, ripped the destruction spell right out of Ignis’ body and thrown in back into his father, but not before it had done its work on his companion’s eyes. Power bolstered by his rage he’d banished his father from the tower and altered the barrier to not recognize the King any longer. Not that the man hadn’t tried to come back, Noctis had felt him pounding against the barrier a few times but there was no forgiveness in him. 

Maybe if he hadn’t been witness to Ignis’ struggle to adapt to blindness and didn’t see those cold, sightless eyes everyday. Maybe if Ignis had accepted his offer to replace his eyes; he did, after all, have a whole jar of elf eyes and several other kinds besides he could use to fix his Doll, but Ignis had declined. Maybe if he didn’t feel the gnawing of guilt of remembering his father’s body buckling under the force of his own destruction spell, hadn’t been able to  _ feel  _ it work it’s damage on the King’s leg and one of his arms before it had burned out. 

If not for those things maybe he could let the king back into the tower.  

“There’s a whole world out there.” Ignis said, fingers leaving smudges on the glass as he drug them over the whole surface. “People to meet. Isn’t that something you want?”

Noctis blinked. “Do you? We can go if you want-” 

“Me?” Ignis scoffed. “I haven’t been blind long enough to forget what I look like Noct. I don’t belong outside.” 

Noctis found himself at his companion’s side without realizing he was moving, hand wrapped around Ignis’ bicep. “What are you talking about? What do you think you look like?” 

“A monster, is what I believe your father said.” His hand darted up, made to touch the largest patch of scar tissue that marred his face but he stopped, fingertips hovering just above it. “I don’t look like you do.” 

That was true enough. When the magic had woken Ignis up it had changed him some, pulled his body together and turned the stitching into hundreds of thin, pale scars, made it so the parts of his scalp that were bald and patchy would eventually grow ash blond hair like the rest of his head, and added life to him. It had even evened out his skin tone some, though when he was close Noctis could still make out the places where one of the ‘donors’ ended and another began, slight variations in color or by odd sprinkles of freckles or moles in places that didn’t match others. 

He’d ended up looking a few years older than Noctis and had grown as he’d grown, as natural as was possible for what he was. He’d learned, found his own interests to occupy himself when Noctis was in his lessons, taught himself to conjure and curse. According to Noctis’ tutor Ignis was one of, if not the, most independent and self-actualized Dolls he’d ever seen. 

But did he look human? Not exactly. There was still a patchwork quality to him, a lack of color under his skin, a lack of breath and a strange slow heartbeat. It wasn’t much but it was enough to give him a sense of...otherness. 

Noctis didn’t know if people who weren’t him would notice it but then, his father had within seconds and had tried to unmake Ignis for it. 

“Besides,” Ignis continued. “What would you do, hold my hand everywhere we went?” 

“If you needed me to.” 

Ignis sighed. He turned to face Noctis, looked down at him with eyes that likely didn’t see him, and smiled wanly. “Is that what you made me for Noct? To take by the hand and lead through the world, and keep everyone we meet from trying to destroy me?” 

Noctis stepped closer, slid behind Ignis to press his forehead to a spot between the Doll’s shoulder blades. “You know why I made you.” He didn’t understand this conversation at all and he wasn’t sure he liked it. It felt like Ignis was trying to tell him to leave him here but that couldn’t be right. 

Everything had been so strange since his father had come. He hated it but he didn’t know what to do to make it better except fix Ignis’ eyes and replace the scarred skin on his face, but his Doll wouldn’t allow him to. How were they supposed to get over what had happened if Ignis insisted on carrying around the reminder? 

“I would never leave you behind.” He said against the skin of his Doll’s shoulder, lips brushing over the jagged line of scar tissue that marked where arm had met torso all those years ago.

Ignis’ was cool to the touch, not like he’d been before Noctis had woken him but noticeably colder than Noct was, but he skin would warm with enough contact or magic transfer. His wrapped his arms around the other, hands pressed flat against his abdomen and moving along the flat expanse. There were more stitch-scars on his chest and stomach than anywhere else, the evidence of all the work that had gone into adding the internal pieces and fitting together flesh and skin to make him a complete vessel. Noctis picked up his head to peer over Ignis’ shoulder, eyes zeroing in on his fingers, long and thin, tracing the familiar marks. He felt his companion tense, the muscles in his stomach going tight, and heard him inhale sharply; the Doll’s chest rose and fell. 

Noctis had once asked why Ignis did things like that, breathing deeply before casting a spell or sighing when he was annoyed, when he didn’t need to breathe at all. He’d gotten a very tart  _ ‘As it turns out I can’t speak or express how frustrating you are without air in my lungs. _ ’ in response.) 

He’d never really touched them before, not like this, and it was...strange. Different. Warm heat bubbled in his stomach and a thought wiggled into his brain. 

“Iggy?” The doll hummed in acknowledgement. “Can I kiss you?” 

Ignis’ eyebrow went up. “Why are you asking? You kiss me all the time.” 

“N-not. Not to transfer energy.” 

“For what then?” 

Noctis saw his cheeks flush pink in the mirror, felt the warmth in his face, and couldn’t place why trying to explain was making him stumble. They kissed often enough, to keep up the transfer or magic and life energy, and yes Noctis had noticed that he liked it. It made him feel warm on the inside, like the feathers from his pillow had gotten into his stomach and were fluttering around. He never asked, just leaned in and did it when he noticed Ignis seemed tired or distracted, pushed a bit of his will into the Doll, and Ignis always accepted without complaint. 

Kissing him for another reason shouldn’t be so different, should it? Didn’t all the heroes in his books kiss people they loved? 

Didn’t he love Ignis, more than anything in the world? He’d made him with his own hands, breathed life into his lungs, slept at his side night after night, and had saved him from his father because he loved him. 

Needed him. 

There was no one else in the world for him. 

He looked away from Ignis’ confused reflection. “Because I want to.” 

“Ah.” Ignis murmured then, with another low hum, twisted around in Noctis’ grasp just enough that he could lean his face down towards him.

Ignis kissed him, first at the corner of his mouth but the miss was quickly corrected, the Doll huffing soft in irritation as he did it. Noctis stood there, perfectly still, for a heartbeat, two, three, unsure about the dry pressure against his mouth. He’d expected it to be different, better than kisses to move magic, but it wasn’t, not really. 

Then Ignis shifted just enough to make their lips slide then slot together in another way. Something flicked against the seam of his lips then swept past the gap between them and-Oh. 

Oh. 

That was different. 

“Is that- why did you-” 

Ignis’ cheeks pinkened. “I don’t...it was just. In my head.” 

That happened sometimes. Things just in Ignis’ head that shouldn’t be, echoes of the lives that had come together to make him.  

Noctis nodded, satisfied with that, then pressed forward, leaned up, chased Ignis’ lips again. It was hot and wet and messy and nothing lined up quite right. Their noses bumped, teeth clinked, and foreheads collided; Ignis laughed and Noctis grinned before they tried again, a little smoother this time. It was hard to breathe and they had to pull away a few times but...but. He pulled Ignis closer, hands curling around his hips and tugging, pressed fully against the Doll’s back. It would be easier if they were facing each other, he was pretty sure, but Ignis was so nice against him, body warming slowly, hard muscle with a little softness where his backside pressed against his crotch. 

Noctis pushed his knee between Ignis’ legs, wanting to be even closer, and drug his hands over bare skin, something similar to the how he felt when Ignis baked tarts coming to life in him. He wanted more, wanted everything he could get, couldn’t imagine not devouring everything placed in front of him. 

“Can I...can I touch you?” 

Noctis knew there was more than kissing, his tutor had kindly left an array of books on the subject once he’d decided Noctis was old enough for them, and he’d touched himself in Ignis’ presence before, though Ignis had never done the same. He’d thought about touching the Doll, really touching him, but the books all said you couldn’t do that sort of thing without permission and he’d never known how to ask. Silly, because Ignis never refused him anything. 

Ignis’ shoulders lifted. “You can do whatever you want with me. You know that.” 

Noctis wanted to say that wasn’t right, it wasn’t what Ignis was supposed to say, but the words weren’t coming together right in his head and, maybe, it didn’t really matter. Books were just books. He nodded instead then thrust his hand down, past the waistband of Ignis’ pants. 

Ignis, and his reflection, jumped then shuddered, lips parting into a soft “oh.” 

Noctis’ gaze moved to the mirror; he could see Ignis better this way, without straining his neck forward. He closed his hand around the Doll, noted that he was warmer here and that his cock was starting to grow stiffer and plump in his hand. He moved his hand, dragging up, and watched the Ignis in the mirror’s face twist into an expression he’d never seen on the other before. Ignis squirmed a little, brows knitting together, and his hips twitched, first away from Noct’s hand then towards it. 

Noctis dragged his hand down then up again and again, trying to mimic the way he touched himself as best he could, and never took his eyes away from the mirror. He wished, as he watched emotion flicker over Ignis’ face, the Doll could see himself. The way color crept up over his collarbone and neck to fill his face, how his lips had gone dark pink and puffy, how his eyelids had fallen to half mast. 

So he told him instead, every detail he could think to share. He pushed down the other’s pants to bunch up around his knees, tongue heavy and oddly dry as he told Ignis what he looked like, hard and red at the tip, in his hand. He felt along the length, felt each vein and ridge and tried to describe it in the detail it deserved, and when he felt he was done his fingers were sticky wet and so was the head of Ignis’ cock. 

He brought his other hand up to touch nipples that had gone hard and were standing at attention, startled when the other jumped, then told Ignis about the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, how his stomach flexed as he arched and his toes curled. He thumbed at the slick head of Ignis’ cock, fluid dribbling over his fingertips, and told Ignis that he was even more red now, up to the tips of his ears and half down his chest in splotches. Ignis squirmed more and panted, mouth wet and glistening. 

Ignis’ reflection bit down on it’s lip to muffle a strange, high pitched whine and Noctis relayed how he liked how that looked, from the way Ignis’ bottom lip went white under his teeth to the lines of tension around his eyes. Noctis twisted his hand on the upstroke, squeezed a little, and Ignis’ body stiffened and his head tilted back. In the mirror Noctis could see the length of his throat, the bow of his body, the way his fingers curled and uncurled. Another twist and Ignis shouted, cock spurting over Noctis’ hand and the mirror in strong pulses. 

When he was done Ignis went limp against him. Noctis almost toppled under his weight but managed to ease them down to the ground, Ignis sprawled over his lap, face tilted towards the ceiling. He looked confused. Noctis peered down at him, concern pushing back the fire that had come to life in his blood. 

“Iggy?” 

“Is this why you made me? For...that?”

Noctis was tempted to shove him off of his lap. “I made you to stay with me. You know that.” 

Ignis’ eyes, gray and empty, closed. “You won’t leave me behind.” 

“No! I’ll...I’ll make it so you can go outside. I’ll make a law that no one can attack you. Or be mean.” He could do that couldn’t he? He was a prince, that meant something didn’t it? 

Ignis laughed quietly. “I think you have to be king to do that.”

“So I’ll be king.” Noctis said without hesitation. “I’ll go down to the workshop and talk to Ardyn about it right now. If you want to leave then I’ll-” 

Ignis moved suddenly, twisted around and pushed him back, crawled over his body until his face was hovering above where Noctis’ erection was tenting his pants. “Not right now. I have something else in my head I want to try.” 

**Author's Note:**

> An exchange with Uncle Ardyn that didn't make it into the story that Ihugy felt should get in there. 
> 
> "I think you two are a bit stunted, honestly." His tutor said, staring down his nose at them. Then, eyes sliding over to Ignis, he added. "You at least, Highness. You...well I know just what's wrong with you."   
> Noctis nodded as he always did when he tutor spoke about things he didn't understand. Ignis frowned. "Something's wrong with me?"  
> "Lack of independent blood flow. Your heart only gets pumping when Noctis is in contact with you." They exchanged confused glances; the man sighed. "Don't worry about it. Who wants to summon a dragon?"


End file.
